Page 92 of Root

“You look like a Milk Dud girl.”

“I’m a break your fucking nose girl.”

“You don’t scare me. You turn me on.” He pulls off his tie.

The words are on the tip of my tongue because he turns me on, too. I want to take the tie, have my way with him, assert my will, strength, put the natural order back into place.

“So you’re doing Nikolai’s dirty work?”

I choose those words carefully. I know the mafia king and queen are away; it’s not hard to miss their presence. But with Rush, I think I need to be a mixture of straight talk and subtle.

Goading him is the easy way to do it.

And it has the bonus of assuaging the inexplicable anger in me.

If he touched me before like he wanted to fuck me hard, or if he’d done it in a dismissive, overtly sexual way, I’d have been good. Same if he’d rough handled me and shoved a hand down my pants, twisted my nipples, bit me.

That I can handle.

I know that shit.

I even like it from the right man.

It’s the softness, the sweet touch, the thing he does that shifts things into an approximation of loving I don’t know what to do with.

One person loves me and that’s Jack.

Not to mention it’s platonic love. Family.

I know Rush doesn’t love me, far from it, but his sweet words, the praise, the almost religious care he brings when he brushes fingers or lips against me, is something that I don’t know how to handle.

Fucked up shit’s my jam.

Not…not the softer side of Rush.

He’s got some fucked up tastes I like, but that other part? It threatens to addict me to it, make me crave gentle fingers, little kisses, words that rain praise and wonder down like summer.

Earlier, when I texted with the burner number—it keeps changing—I told the Ten64 member at the other end it’s going to be slow. If they want this done properly, if they want information to bring this family, along with the Smiths, down, it’ll take time.

I know he went to see someone from the Smith family the other day. Mainly because he’s not trying to hide it.

The disarming thing he has is a potent weapon, should he choose to use it. When he’s open and friendly and charming, it makes me forget he’s my enemy by proxy. He makes me think there’s something…

It makes me think there’s nothing to hide on his part.

“Dirty work? Everything we do has that tinge to it. We’re not so different from your little gang in what we deal with. It’s more the…execution,” he says. “Everything you see is mine.”

There’s a note of humor to his voice but it’s also serious.

I know he’s the heir, but this is wholly Nikolai’s operation, and Rush doesn’t seem the type to want to cross that line and put the crown on. He likes where he is.

Fucking around—I stop. No. He’s got a role, Rose has a role. Every motherfucker here has a role, even the little maid who comes in a few times a week.

“You should take it and run,” I mutter.

“Why?”

“You don’t get sick of the criminal lifestyle?”

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